Her Gift
by Calico
Summary: Hiccup and Astrid spend one final night together before her wedding.


**A/N: Never fear, I'm still working diligently at "How to Retrain a Viking" but I've been really melancholy lately and that's taking the story in a direction I'm not sure I want to go. So I thought I'd let that negative stuff have its own playground. Maybe be a oneshot, or there may be more, not sure.**

**This is rated a very strong "M". I don't think it's graphic enough to be qualified as a lemon, but there's definitely very adult stuff going on in here. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own any rights, no infringement intended.**

* * *

The boy who is not quite a man yet and the Night Fury wait just beyond the yard, in shadows where the dark dragon blends in seamlessly. The boy is anxious, worried she won't be able to make it out and they'll miss this precious opportunity and the dragon snorts and shifts beneath him in response to his unease.

But in the pale starlight, the front door cracks open and she exits with exaggerated steps meant to make as little noise as possible. He catches his breath as she closes the door unbearably slowly and doesn't release it until she's jogged the short distance to them. They don't say anything, but he offers her his arm and she takes it eagerly, settling in behind him, just like always, just like it should be.

With little prompting, the dragon rises silently into the night sky and ferries the two teens to the gully on the other side of Raven Point. They dismount and the dragon slinks off to amuse himself. From a small pack he removes a pair of animal skins, and lays them on the frost-covered ground. It is fall and the air is bitingly cool, but there is no snow. Weddings always happened before the snow.

He lights a small fire and hunkers down next to it, peering into its flames as if to find some other answer, some hope. She places her hand on his shoulder and he looks up. She's already disrobed and in the combined light of the moon and fire, she looks like a goddess, perhaps a Valkyrie come to take him from battle. He is breathless in her beauty, but also heartbroken.

She shivers in the cool air and he pulls her down to the skins, covering her. His hand traces her face, her arm, her stomach. It hovers over the small mound on her chest uncertainly. He's always shown her the utmost respect and never taken any liberties with her body before, but now it sits open to him and he becomes unsure.

Her hand takes his and gently lowers it, using it to rub the small pink nub with his palm. He's awash with the simple pleasure that gives him and reaches down to sample other previously off limit places on her body, first the smooth roundness of her buttocks, then her thigh and finally the warmth between her legs, all the while kissing her somewhere, everywhere.

Her lips find his ear and she whispers for him to take his clothes off. He's hesitant at first; it will mean moving away from her, and he doesn't want to waste any precious moments, but he does, hastily pulling at his tunic and leggings. He removes his metal leg for fear of hurting her, and then he's back under the covering, laying above her, feeling every inch of her smooth warmth, both excited and terrified at this closeness.

"Are you sure?" he asks for at least the twelfth time.

She smiles and pulls his face down to hers, meeting his mouth hungrily. "Please," she whispers against him. As if he could ever deny her anything.

He knew what he had to do, and what it meant for her. He was angry too. This was supposed to happen on _their_ wedding night, in _their_ marital bed, starting _their_ life together not out here in the wild, shivering from the late fall chill. But even after everything he had accomplished he had not been a worthy enough suitor, he didn't bring the highest Bride Price, and tomorrow she would marry a man twenty years her senior, a merchant from a distant port, whom she hadn't even met yet. Not even the intervention of his father could alter her parents' wishes. It was happening, and completely out of their control.

"Please," she whispers again, almost a sob. She wanted to give him this, her final gift to him. She would do as her parents wished, but she would not give that stranger this, her highest value. It belonged only to him.

He finds the opening and presses, gently at first and then with more insistence. He sighs as he feels as if he is wholly enveloped in her, his entire body surrounded by her wet heat, a pleasure he's only dimly dreamt of before. She whimpers quietly beneath him as he desperately tries to make it more comfortable for her. He hates himself a little for doing this to her, but he's also glad it is him and not someone who cares nothing for her. Yes, he thinks with a surge of rage, he doesn't want anyone else to have this precious moment.

Looking down at her, he sees the firelight flicker off a trail of tears, but she's smiling reassuringly, her hands stroking his hair lovingly. They are not tears of pain or regret, just loss. Then she closes her eyes and her lips start moving in a whispered prayer to Freyja, begging that their union be fruitful. She begs this gift of him, to take with her to a far away land.

It's looser now, smoother, but no less intoxicating, and he moves within her both wanting more and wanting it to draw out forever. Soon his thoughts drift away and he's only left with feeling, a pure need. It grows inside of him and overwhelms him until he can't keep it back any longer. The release comes and he can't help but sob at its power, _her_ power to do this to him.

She's no longer whispering, only breathing deeply beneath him. He doesn't want to part from her just yet and lays his head on her breast. Her hands continue to move, gentle fingers trailing over hair, arms, back.

"Let's just leave," he says, his voice is faint from exhaustion. "We'll fly somewhere, anywhere."

He can feel her shake her head, even as she hugs him tightly. "I can't. I made a promise."

He looks up at her. "You also promised to be pure."

Her finger traces his lips. "A small white lie is nothing compared to a broken contract. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

He closes his eyes. "I can't live without you."

"Yes, you can. We'll both be fine. It'll hurt, yes, but not forever." He's not so sure of that. After several moments of silence, her small voice whispers, "I love you, Hiccup."

He opens his mouth to respond, but there are only tears and he sobs into her chest as she holds him close.

And then their time together is over. Her day will start early and she needs to be home before any relatives awaken. Reluctantly he pulls himself away from her. They dress in silence and then sit together on the skins, hip to hip, knee to knee, hands entwined together.

"Hiccup," she starts but does not look at him. "If I…if I'm…"

"I don't want to know," he says suddenly cutting her off. She looks at him now. "I don't think I could stand knowing he took both of you from me."

She nods sadly and cups his cheek in her hand, kissing him on last time. "I'll miss you."

"I love you, Astrid," he finally whispers to her, and it hurts him to his very core.

Toothless flies them back as silently as before and he can only watch as she returns to her house, knowing he'll never see her again.

No one in Berk questions his absence from the festivities the next morning. The celebration is minimal as the wedding couple is set to travel by boat to their new home across the sea. He doesn't know the name of the land, nor does he care. He watches from the cliffs as the boat sails away and remains there through the evening, and when the moon is high and the stars are out and he knows that the marriage must have consummated, he screams into the wind until he can't scream anymore.

* * *

Astrid grunts from the pain. She doesn't want to scream, but it feels like more than she can bear. The midwife shuffles about the room efficiently, calling out instructions in curt short words. Astrid likes that, she didn't think she could take someone fawning over her at this moment. _He's_ outside the door – her husband – waiting for news of his first born. Astrid silently begs to the goddess yet again, even as another contraction hits her. Let it be fair and lean, not dark and corpulent like _him_. She doesn't even care if anyone notices.

The midwife orders her to push and she does even though it feels as if she's being split in two, and when she feels like she can't do it any longer, it's over and she leans back, gasping for air as the woman cuts the umbilical cord.

"Let me see it," she demands shrilly, holding her arms out.

"One moment, I need to clean it up first." The woman takes an eternity before presenting Astrid with her baby, wrapped in a blanket, eyes barely open. "Here's your son."

She pushes the blanket aside eagerly to get a better look at the face. His features are still squished together, just a mold of a person-to-be really, but she thinks, no she's sure she recognizes the nose. She smiles as the baby begins to fuss hungrily.

"Wife?" he asks, peering into the room, alerted by the sound.

"It's a son," she tells him. She would scowl if she could, but she's far too filled with joy. She imagines the light fuzz on his head will grow into a strawberry blond and his baby blue eyes will perhaps develop into a lovely green.

"Hmm," her husband says coming to her side. "Doesn't really look like my family at all."

"He looks like my father," she says absently, touching the baby everywhere, loving it. "My gift," she whispers to him, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Hiccup."

"What?"

"I said his name is Hiccup."

He frowns at her. "That sounds ridiculous. I have plenty of fine family names…"

"I don't care what other names you give him, that's what I'm calling him," she snaps churlishly. "Now can you leave me alone with my son? He's hungry."

The man, realizing he's not needed, gives her a curt kiss on her head and leaves the room. She sighs in relief and coos to her boy as she nestles him to her breast.

"I love you."


End file.
